


Love At First Swipe?

by loopyhoopyfrood



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 19:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11408733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loopyhoopyfrood/pseuds/loopyhoopyfrood
Summary: Jack was pretty sure that being sent to a five-star restaurant to meet up with a girl from a dating app hadn’t been in his job description.





	Love At First Swipe?

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY, my Undercover Detectives fic is finished! My apologies for being almost a week late. Huge thanks to Scruggzi for the feedback and for reassuring me it wasn't completely terrible, and to everyone for their encouragement. I promised something happier after my hurt/lack of comfort fic, so here it is!  
> Enjoy!

Paperwork, Jack could handle. Incompetent constables and demanding superiors didn’t so much as faze him anymore. Murderers, rapists, con-artists… all part of being a detective inspector. But being dressed in what Jane would probably describe as _frat boy pastels_ , given the keys to a car that cost more than his yearly wages, and sent to a five-star restaurant to meet up with a girl from a dating app? He was pretty sure that hadn’t been in the job description.

The case had landed in his lap three weeks ago. A series of home burglaries that would have usually been assigned to one of the junior sergeants, if it wasn’t for the fact that the five victims were wealthy. Extremely wealthy. The _‘my watch costs more than your house’_ kind of wealthy. Personally, Jack failed to see how this made any of them any more deserving of his help than anyone else, but apparently someone higher up disagreed. Consequently, the responsibility of finding the culprit had fallen squarely on Detective Inspector Jack Robinson’s reluctant shoulders.

For the first week, it seemed like their ridiculous wealth was the only thing his victims had in common. They lived in different neighbourhoods, worked in different fields, shopped at different supermarkets. They visited different gyms, coffee shops and doctor’s surgeries. Apart from all being moderately attractive, they didn’t share any particular physical traits. There was no crossover in their personal histories, no overlap in their family, co-workers, or neighbours. By the time he found himself resorting to checking their starsigns, which proved to be yet another thing none of them had in common, Jack was half hoping for a sixth victim just to increase their chances of finding a link.

Then Hugh discovered ‘Appily Ever After.

It was a dating app, Jack managed to figure out, but that was about as far as he got. Luckily his constable proved far more knowledgeable, and in under fifteen minutes Jack knew more than he ever wanted to about ‘Appily Ever After’s emergence, design, user base, unique selling points, marketing strategies, and rags-to-riches creator, Trent Carter. Jack had no idea how Hugh knew so much about the dating app, but he most definitely wasn’t going to ask.

Each of his victims had an ‘Appily Ever After profile. More importantly, each of them had been on a date when their home had been broken into.

A date organised through the app.

Relieved to finally have a lead, Jack had ordered extensive background searches on all his victims’ dates. An order that failed at the first hurdle.

Understandably, apps such as ‘Appily Ever After took their users’ privacy extremely seriously. Less understandably, Trent Carter was a complete asshole about it. Jack had entered the meeting with his badge at the ready and hopes of the man’s co-operation. He’d left the meeting with a craving for a stiff drink and a gleeful demand that he come back with a warrant.

It took him twenty-three hours, but he came back with a warrant.

Five interviews and a financial check later Jack’s investigation was finally getting somewhere. Each of his victims’ dates had been suspiciously forthcoming, although somehow Jack couldn’t find it in himself to complain. The fact that each of them had been on their second date with one of his victims could have been a coincidence, but discovering that they’d each picked up their date from the homes burgled later that night set alarm bells ringing. Ignoring the fact that each of them had a cast iron alibi, Jack had continued with the interrogations, and struck gold.

Although he was far too professional to admit it, Jack took great delight in seating Mr Carter across from him in the interrogation room and confronting him with their findings. Each of the victims’ dates had been personally acquainted with the app’s creator, and had created a profile thanks to a personal invitation. Faced with an expected lack of reaction, Jack had played his trump card; financial statements that showed ‘Appily Ever After’s profits steadily decreasing, with the exception of five convenient spikes a few days after each of his burglaries. Jack carefully outlined his theory; that Mr Carter was helping his friends set up dates with rich users, using them to find out where they lived, and then arranging for their houses to be broken into when he knew they would be otherwise occupied.

Jack’s delight quickly faded when Mr Carter called for his lawyer, and his investigation had hit a wall.

A week and zero progress later, pressure from the victims (or more accurately, from their wallets) had convinced the commissioner that it was time for a different approach, and so it was that Jack, now _Archibald Jones_ , had found himself with an ‘Appily Ever After account, a profile based on their victims’ dates, and a plethora of beautiful women apparently queuing up to date him.

Given that _Archie_ had been specifically designed to have as much in common with their current victims as possible (which, from what Jack could figure out, basically meant he was insanely rich, moderately attractive, and desperately single) they’d been hopeful for a quick success. The plan was for Jack to find someone who seemed like they could be one of Carter’s collaborators, get along well enough on a first date to organise a second, and then have officers stake out his fake mansion to catch the thieves in action. It had been predicted that Jack would find a match who fit their profile within three or four days, a week at most.

It took him 42 minutes.

A surprising number of the users Jack matched with fit their profile, but there was something about this woman in particular that made Jack sure she was one of the people they were looking for. Maybe it was the fact that her face, not unlike his own, was slightly obscured in all of her photos, subtly hidden with shadows, camera angles and the occasional pair of sunglasses. Maybe it was her profile, as full as lies as every other user, but missing that hint of authenticity. Or maybe it was just Jack’s spidey senses tingling. Either way, something about Fern Roberts had him groaning in resignation and swiping right.

20 minutes later he had a date.

He tried not to think about how it was his first date since his divorce.

Instead he thought about how glad he was that the station was footing the bill for all this. The clothing alone would have wiped out his savings, although given that he would never be caught dead in the pastel pink polo shirt and beige cut offs after tonight, he supposed he could have always just kept the tags in and gotten a refund afterwards. He was pretty sure even selling his house wouldn’t pay for the rest of his disguise. Jack hadn’t been able to resist checking online how much it would cost to actually buy the car he was handed the keys too, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He’d never driven more carefully in his life.

All too soon he was pulling up outside the five-star restaurant they had agreed to meet at, unable to help checking his reflection in the rear-view mirror before stepping out of the car. His phone buzzed as he nervously handed his keys to the establishment’s valet, watching the man out of the corner of his eye as his car disappeared into the parking lot. Despite parking expensive cars being the man’s job, Jack couldn’t help but wince at the idea of someone else in the driving seat. He didn’t want to even imagine the look on the commissioner’s face if he returned it damaged.

A glance at his phone removed all thoughts of extortionately priced cars from his mind. ‘Appily Ever After’s icon was indicating he had a new message, and Jack made a safe guess that it was from his date. Pressing the icon with his thumb he proved himself correct, and ignoring the excessive use of emojis and tiny pictures of martini glasses, he managed to decipher that she was already inside. According to the message, she was waiting at the bar, and was _very_ keen to meet him. With a sigh of reluctance, Jack pushed the phone back into his pocket, straightened his tie, and entered the restaurant.

Every seat seemed to be taken, and as Jack scanned the crowded room it struck him that it would have been a good idea to have asked his date for a way of recognising her. Sighing, he reached a hand into his pocket. His fingers had just grazed the top of his phone when his gaze landed on a blonde woman sat sipping her drink at the very end of the bar, and Jack realised with a groan that he knew exactly who his date was. Waving off the maître d’, he made his way over.

“Fern Roberts. I should have known.”

 _Fern_ spun gracefully on her barstool, unable to stop the laugh that escaped as she laid eyes on her date. She rose to greet him, offering her hand in the way one does when greeting a stranger, and to any outside observer that’s all they were. Jack, however, noticed immediately the glint of amusement in her eyes, knowing it was mirrored in his own.

“Archibald Jones. I thought it was rather the coincidence.” Phryne Fisher removed a small silver handbag from a barstool she’d obviously been saving, placing it on the counter as she gestured for Jack to take the seat, watching him with curiosity. “How did you know about this case?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Jack took the offered stool with a resigned smile, scooting closer to Phryne as a group of drunken females gathered behind him. Phryne just shrugged, amused.

“I was hired.”

“By whom?” Jack shouldn’t have been surprised that one of his victims had resorted to a private investigator, but frankly he hadn’t pegged any of them as having the intelligence or imagination to think of such a thing.

“One Miss Loretta Price. She apparently possesses a deep mistrust of the Melbourne Police Force.” Phryne narrowed her eyes at him. “Which does re-raise my initial question of how you knew about it?”

“That would be the other five victims, Miss Fisher, who apparently do possess some faith in their local constabulary.”

“Ah.” Phryne’s surprise had shown on her face for a second, and Jack couldn’t help but feel a slight smugness at not being the one who was one step behind for once. It didn’t last long.

“Mr Carter must be working on a bigger scale than I thought then.” She said, subtly but smugly informing Jack that he wasn’t the only one who’d figured out their most likely suspect. “Drink?”

“Technically, I’m on a case.” Jack protested, quickly adjusting to the change of topic, but Phryne simply raised her eyebrows at him and waved a hand at the barman. Clearly, they’d had some sort of prior conversation, as instead of taking their order the man just nodded and, a minute later, deposited two glasses in front of them. Jack stared dubiously at the vibrant green liquid.

“I promise it won’t kill you.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t entirely trust you.”

Phryne had already raised her glass, wrapping her lips around the twin straws, and Jack reluctantly followed suit. He immediately regretted it, fighting to supress a cough as the burn in his throat revealed just what an absurd amount of alcohol the concoction contained. He quickly set the glass back down, ignoring the amused quirk of Phryne’s lips as she eventually followed suit.

“You did a good job, I have to say.” Phryne had pulled out her phone and Jack could just make out the now all too familiar app filling her screen. She flicked through one of her matches’ photos, and he didn’t need to be able to see properly to guess that it was his. “I didn’t even suspect it could be you. Did you create it yourself?”

“Archibald Jones, courtesy of the City South IT department and a rather detailed victim profile.” Jack’s throat still burned, and he could help but reach up and discreetly loosen his tie. “How did you make the connection? You hardly strike me as someone with an intimate knowledge of dating apps.”

“Can’t stand the things.” Phryne replied cheerfully, raising her glass in an imaginary toast. “Although Mac seems determined to convince me otherwise.”

“I’ll have to pass on my apologies to her then. I doubt your current experience is helping her case.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Phryne took a long sip of her drink, as if contemplating the idea. “I’ll admit you have rather de-railed my cunning undercover plan-"

“I could say the same about you.”

“- _however_ ,” She continued, ignoring his interruption, “rather than facing the prospect of an almost certainly unenjoyable and insincere evening with a man I most probably would find self-centred and mind-numbingly boring, I instead find myself on a date with a rather charming Detective Inspector.

Jack suddenly found himself choking on the drink he’d distractedly risked a second sip of. Attempting, admittedly unsuccessfully, to pass it off as a minor cough, he finally managed to respond.

“I hardly think our evening can still be considered a date.”

“I don’t see why not.”

Phryne was watching him expectantly, and Jack wasn’t sure if it was because of their proximity or just knowing her too well, but he couldn’t have failed to notice the mischievous glint in her eye that usually spelt trouble.

“I believe in order for an evening to be considered a date, some form of underlying romantic motivation is required, Miss Fisher.”

Jack was attempting to keep the conversation light-hearted, but the lump that seemed to have lodged itself in his throat seemed determined to thwart his efforts. He didn’t think either of them could deny that they’d been dancing around something for a while now. Yet in this instance, sat at a bar in dim lighting, so close their knees brushed each other under the table, Jack suddenly felt as if he were teetering on a cliff edge, where whatever happened next would determine which way they went.

He’d expected Phryne to respond flippantly, one of her usual quick come backs that toyed with flirtation, but instead he was met with a moment of silence. Feeling off balance, he picked up his drink again. It seemed to burn less this time, although he wasn’t convinced that was a good sign.

“You’re taking this very seriously, Inspector.”

“I’m a serious man, Miss Fisher.”

“I see.”

There was another silence, and Jack found himself fighting the irrational urge to down the horrendous green liquid in one. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but it certainly wasn’t what he’d been expecting from his evening.

He couldn’t tell if the blood pounding in his head was thrill or terror.

Or maybe it was the alcohol.

“I appreciate that this isn’t the way you expected your evening to go, Inspector.” Phryne was still smiling, but the playfulness had disappeared from her eyes. Instead she looked almost, Jack thought with confusion, nervous?

“However, I believe I have a table waiting for me, and the food here is rather good, so if you can cope with a little _underlying romantic motivation_ , perhaps you’d like to join me?”

Without waiting for an answer, Phryne left Jack alone at the bar, turning heads as she strode across the restaurant to claim her table. Jack simply stared after her, her words echoing in his head as he processed her meaning. It wasn’t until she was seated at a secluded table for two that she looked back and caught his eye.

Feeling a smile slowly spread across his face, Jack down his drink and went to join her.


End file.
